


Whenever Do I Dream

by OrbitWhite



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Concept, Existence, Gen, Strider - Freeform, What am I doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrbitWhite/pseuds/OrbitWhite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...and he learns as fast as I did that you're only as untouchable as you know how to be."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whenever Do I Dream

**Author's Note:**

> So, long story short, I'm the anon that posted this:  
> http://homesmut.livejournal.com/15023.html?thread=28808111#t28808111 
> 
> No bites, but, apparently my swagger was appreciated. I said sure, yeah, I'll bite, I'll do some stuff. Then this drabble happened, and it's not exactly swagger, but I liked the ending line enough to post it. So. That's that, I suppose.

It's days like these I think, damn, what's even up with all this dreamless fuckery. Blacked out static, that's what it is, and I feel like maybe there's something that should be there but isn't. The lack is like a dream that never was, pressing in like some shitty fear of drowning in a lack of space. An overwhelming hatred of the unknowable void, but you can't escape it anyway, not for a few years at least. And see, there it goes again. Little tangents crop up, feelings that there's something that needs to happen but can't, and I've got too much to worry about to be haunted by illusions of anti-fate.

Just, be someone else's poltergeist, alright? This stupid kid is needy like nobody's business has ever been, not even fuckin' presidential campaigns and their shitty constant advertisement that won't go away if you shove your face in the hot desert sand and pray for Allah to take you to your virgins, and he looks like me and I don't know why.

Except, I think maybe I do.

Broken bits of a purple moon, splayed like a broken plate, like someone just couldn't take the heat and threw the legendary piece of shit across the cosmos and it finally hit something too hard, finally couldn't take the strain and cracked into a thousand irreparable fractures. That's what I think about when I've got nothing else to shut it up, and the only sense I can make of it is the kind that isn't preceded by "common" because I've only come to shitty dead ends that your average crack-on-the-head crazy would shrug at like it's all bullshit. Mostly that's because it is.

The kid looks at me, sometimes; just stops for a second to take it in, and next thing I know he's acting just a little bit more like me. He's already got the shades, the lacking expression that he thinks is unflappable but really isn't, not yet but he's getting there, and he learns as fast as I did that you're only as untouchable as you know how to be. It's a constant leaping pirouette off the handle of achievement, and you only stick the landing once you've practiced it a while; sometimes you might land wrong and get sent to the nurse who tells you you're fucking stupid and of course you sprained it you little twit, you didn't do it right and come back to try again when you think you can take it like you aren't a whiny bitch.

Sometimes I think maybe I'm a bit too harsh of a nurse, if you follow the transition like the YELLOW brick road and not the RED brick road. The red brick road is the one that doesn't lead to the Oz of Accurate Conclusions; the red brick road leads to No, You're A Dumbass and Get The Fuck Out.

Most people go down the red brick road, which would be frustrating if I still cared. I don't, not really. My life is a snowball of the next thing to do, whether I need to do it or just feel like it, and maybe that's not how I'm supposed to be doing this but it works. Lil' bro doesn't complain, not that he would even if he should, and nobody else really matters.

And me, well, I'm the one who nobody could read even if I wanted them to. Kid's come close, and someday he'll be able to tell, but he's enough like me that he wouldn't say anything about it, not really. I chose it, and he chose to emulate it, and there's no going back once you're there. I don't think I even could fray at the seams; there's just too many of the things, layered with armor by the names of Sincerity and Irony and everything in between you could possibly conjure until it's all muddled up and you can't tell where one seam begins and the other one ends. I'd just keep going until all I am is me.

Name's Dawn Strider, and I think I'm the one that has never actually existed.


End file.
